The Bleeding Man
by sah-dah
Summary: A continuation from A Dance with Dragons, I was inspired after reading many fan theories. Also trying to pass time between GoT ending for the season and GRRM ever publishing the Winds of Winter


…_Is this what death is?..._

The man, although young in years to some, stood up. At once he realized he was naked but it made no difference, there was no cold now.

In the distance a flash of blue captured his attention and he walked to it in a trance. Only when he stood directly in front of it did he realize it was a winter rose. The most beautiful he had ever seen. It was growing from a chink in the sheer face of the wall.

As he stood there contemplating the beauty in the harsh landscape he felt compelled to pluck the rose. When his sword hand reached out and his fist closed about the delicate stem, he cried out in pain as his hand was engulfed in flames. The various knife wounds he had until now ignored started gushing blood and he could not let go of the vicious flower.

The pain transported him to another time and place.

The scene to him was as alien as the Wall would be to any southern born Westerosi dweller. The air was balmy and thick with the sound of the wind blowing through the emerald green grass. There was nothing to be seen for miles in any direction. Again he wondered if he was dying, somehow that didn't seem possible.

_…You know nothing, Jon Snow…_

The wind whispered her words as he walked to the out cropping of rocks in the distance. Somewhere in his chest there was an ache created by her void in the world. It was a feeling he did not allow himself and it crashed over him now unbidden brought on by the void he walked through now…

His muscles pulled and strained his fingers grasped for hold as he finally hoisted himself to the summit of the rocky outcrop. The heat caused beads and rivulets of perspiration to pour out of his spent body. Sprawled out on the top of the world he rested while his chest heaved breathing in the heavy air. What was he doing here? Where was this place? It hardly seemed possible that he could have created such a space in his mind as he wouldn't have had the imagination to create such an alien space. For one wild moment he missed the fierce cold of the Wall. How could he belong here in such a space?

A thrumming sound filled his mind as the sun baked and dried his sweat. When a sudden dark washed over him he opened his eyes, only to be blinded by the sun once more. The thrumming, now more a beating…of strong wings…it would seem grew louder. He sat up shading his eyes trying to see what was coming for him, there was only green as far as he could see. A shrieking bleat sounded from the sky. He wished he had Longclaw in his hand. In that moment Jon truly felt naked.

The sound tore through the heavens once more, Jon looked up at the glaring sky, if his opponent was air born he was a skilled combatant, due to the open terrain the only possible means from attack could come from the direction of the sun, there was no other place to hide.

Those were his last thoughts as fire burst forth from the heavens. The pain was far worse than when he burned his hand fighting the Other.

"RHAEGAL, NOO!"

_Ygritte…_There was no way she had come to save him as he burned, Jon saw through the smoke and haze a comet of black with a mane of silver white…_how strange. _ Ygritte had been kissed by fire, not by ice, and even she spearwife and warrior could not tame a demon of fire.

His last sight was of a woman smaller of stature and yet more fierce than his wildling had been, hair the color of the starts and eyes a startling shade of violet. She was reaching for his face as the flames licked her sides, her face held concern and a look of wonder. Jon wanted to protect this seeming angel from the flames that were engulfing their frames, yet she seemed to walk through them untouched and unbothered.

"Rhaegar…" was the whispered sound on her tongue and Jon was lost to the void. No, his name was Jon, and he would never be able to tell her, his vision savior. The fire raged on…

…_You know nothing, Jon Snow…_

…

Melisandre watched the flames as they grew wild leaping, the shapes moving too fast for the untrained eyes of other but she saw the visions her Lord meant her to see. The flames started diminishing as the man on the bed began to moan and move. The direwolf made a low moan and lifted his great head to stare at the Red Priestess. "I told him he would have need of my friendship." She said, as she admired the beast again, it would have been preferable to her that he be as red as his eyes but at least he had red eyes.

The Red woman walked to the man on the bed and observed the scars that were now only smoldering slightly. It seemed to be that this was the _"snow" _ she kept seeing in her visions while searching for Azor Ahai, only time would tell now if he would be the one to deliver them from the Great Other…


End file.
